RavenHawke (Dragons of Challon Book 2)

by Deborah MacGillivray

  Damian noticed Aithinne accepted a cup, but did not drink. She just stared at him with the hurt of betrayal clear in her hazel eyes.

  Taking the golden goblet from the tray that his servant brought in, Edward lifted the chalice up. “May you both be as happy as I was with my queen. And someday soon, send me your strong sons to foster. Our lands will grow robust through these unions.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  He took her by the milk-white hand, and by the grass green sleeve,

  and laid her low down on the flowers, and her he asked no leave.

  —Ballad of Tamlin

  Pouring water into the pot to heat over the campfire, Tamlyn looked to Aithinne. “Soon we shall reach Glen Shane. On the morrow methinks. I am so weary of travel, and will feel naught but belief when we reach home. Thankfully, Challon received permission for us to leave Berwick early. I do not think I could have stood it there one more day. Lucky for us, Edward agreed the foul air was no’ good for women carrying babes.”

  Aithinne only spared her cousin a half-interest, as she watched the men riding out on patrol, unease fermenting within her. Challon and Damian had stationed half their men to guard the camp and ridden out, not bothering to say why. She shivered, despite the warm air riding on the wind. She did not like the furtive looks passing between the two men.

  “You still are no’ speaking to St. Giles?” Tamlyn asked.

  Aithinne tossed away the small pebble she had been holding. “Nay. I wish never to speak to Sir Oaf again.”

  “Because Edward and he decided your fate, betrothed you to him without a by your leave?” Tamlyn sighed. “I wouldst think you more abhorrent of the future, cousin dear, if the man was no’ in your bed so much―and if you did not carry his child. You want the babe to be born in wedlock, eh? To secure his coming days, his rights in this world?”

  Aithinne stared off into the woods, listening to the babbling of the burn. It sounded so cool, so inviting, the first creek they had passed in their travels that was more than a trickle because of the drought. “Please, do no’ remind me of my past foolishness. Since that man came into my life it has been one big muddle, a coil that just seems to tighten about me like a rope.”

  “Lass, you canno’ tell me you hate the idea of being his lady. I have kenned you too long. You see nothing but him. Your heart is in your eyes each time you look at him. And I do no’ use The Kenning to see this truth.”

  “I will no’ lie. That is my deepest wish. If only it was…” She swallowed the sob welling up in her throat. In her heart.

  “Was what, Aithinne?”

  “You were no’ present…heard the things he said to King Edward. He did no’ just hurt my pride, Tamlyn, he laid it in the dirt and then danced upon it. He humiliated me before his monarch. Mocked me―and my freckles. He said you were the pick of the litter, but he supposed he could make do with me.”

  Her cousin exhaled deeply, dusting her hands on the sides of her kirtle. “I fear neither you nor I were cut out for the world of male intrigues. I do no’ understand all lies, but our men tell Edward what he wants to hear. When I went before the king, Challon treated me with indifference that bordered on disdain. It hurt, I admit.”

  “Challon loves you,” Aithinne countered.

  “Aye, I believe in his way he does. In time, I hope for more. Why I chose to think what they spake before Edward were thoughts no’ theirs, but given only to placate this man that rules with a stone heart. Challon did what he must to see me and Glen Shane safe. Damian played the same mummery to protect you and Glen Eallach.”

  “Do you not chafe that Challon was commanded to take you to wife, seed you for the greater glory of England? It makes us naught more than brood mares.”

  “Oh, aye, I worry over that every time I lie with the vexing man…at least once or twice a day. Or thrice.” Tamlyn’s laughter was musical. “Talk to Damian, Aithinne. Discuss the bairn―”

  “Och, like you spake of your babe with Challon?” Aithinne regretted the words as soon as she spoke them. “Sorry. I grow older with each day, but dread no wiser.”

  “I ken the feeling. Aye, I had no’ told Challon, and now I shall pay for that. Curse the bloody king. I kept hoping for the right time. Our marriage be still young. Pendegast and his death cast a pall over the news of the child. I fear we were both undone by Edward Longshanks.”

  ♦◊♦

  As the deepest part of the gloaming fell upon the land, Moffet sat down on the far side of the large log. He followed Aithinne’s orders to turn his back to her as she undressed.

  “When my lord father bade me to watch you, Lady Aithinne, I am not sure this be what he meant. Watching you entails that I see you.”

  “Hearing serves as well. With your back to me you can view all threats coming towards us, eh?” She smiled at the back of the lad’s head. “I appreciate this boon, sweet Moffet. I needs must get the smell of Berwick from me or I may be sick.”

  “Does the babe make you ill?” He paused, almost started to turn to her, but then whipped back around. His cheeks blushed red. “I beg forgiveness, Lady Aithinne. ’Tis not my place, but I heard King Edward say you and Lady Tamlyn carry babes. Is it true? Do you carry my father’s child?”

  “Aye, I carry your half-brother. The babe made me ill in the beginning, but he seems to have made peace with my body.” She hoped Damian’s son held no resentment toward her or the child she carried.

  “You know it is a boy? Are you touched with The Kenning, as my lord father calls it?”

  “I am told over and over that men of Challon only breed sons with black hair and green eyes. It seems I have no say in this matter either.” She sighed. It was not right to take her sour feelings out on the gentle lad. “But aye, I see things...sometimes. I am no’ able to control it. Just odd bits and pieces come to me. There be no summoning it. Ofttimes, I am confused by the riddles they bring.”

  “In your dreams?” His question sounded pointed.

  Aithinne paused, considering. As Damian’s son, he might carry the power within him. “Do you feel it?”

  “I am not sure. Never did before coming here. Only…”

  “Only what, young Moffet?” she asked, slipping out of her chemise.

  “Since my body has begun to change, my voice deepens, I have started having dreams. Strange dreams. Now they seem more than a dream. Later things happen. I oft ponder if I am imaginings these things,” he confessed. “Only, they turn out to be truth. How can I know these things? It does not seem right, somehow. I think mayhap it scares me to know.”

  “The Kenning generally shows in females of Ogilvie blood,” she explained. “’Tis my surmise that your grandmother had Ogilvie blood from some line and passed this on to your father. Speak with him. Mayhap it comes with manhood in males.”

  “Will you wed with him?” he asked softly.

  “Your king ordered it.”

  “Good.” He surprised her with his joy at the prospect. “My father’s eyes dance when he is around you. He is happy.”

  Aithinne bit the corner of her lip, wishing it were so. “Mayhap.”

  She laid her folded clothes on a large flat rock, and then stepped into the pool. The soothing waters were not very cool, due to the high summer heat. It was enough. Surely, Heaven could not feel this blissful. Holding the block of soap in one hand, she floated toward the middle where it was deepest, barely chest high. She ducked her head under, and then surfaced to scrub her hair. She loved a good bath. This time it was more. The water was healing. The thick miasma of Berwick clung to her, permeated her hair. The smell of death and dying seemed to be on every piece of clothing. When she returned to Lyonglen she would burn the kirtles, never wanting to wear them again. For now, she would settle for bathing, the washing both for cleansing her body, but more so her soul.

  “If it was only so easy to be rid of troublesome men,” she muttered, before ducking under to rinse the soap’s foam from her hair. She feared it would take more than one lathering to b
e rid on the foul stench, at least to her mind.

  She broke the water, swiping the droplets from her lashes, only to spot Damian sitting on the fallen log instead of his son. Arms crossed and legs stretched out before him, the white sark almost shimmered in the purple gloaming. He was so handsome―and more than a little perturbed.

  “What part of you do not go anywhere without me do you not understand?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I told Tamlyn I went to scrub Berwick’s foulness from my skin, my hair.”

  “You should have asked me to accompany you, Aithinne.”

  “You were occupied talking with Challon. I asked you and you said not now. Then, you rode out with him. So I begged Moffet to stand watch.”

  “Aye, I sent him to his bed. Where you should be,” he nagged.

  More than fed up to her ears with males bossing her around, she ducked down and scooped up a handful of the soft silt from the bottom of the pool. As he opened his mouth to continue his diatribe, she tossed the loose muck into his face. It was a most unladylike thing to do. Oh, but it felt good! She should feel contrite for behaving so wickedly; instead, she chuckled.

  He stood, and wiped it off, spluttering where a bit had hit his mouth. He flung the silt away, glancing down at his shirt. “Witch. I should beat you.” He sat down and unlaced the cross-ties on his boots and kicked out of them.

  “He who raises his voice in threat, or his fist in anger, be a dullard and canno’ win a dispute otherwise.” She smiled in triumph. She floated back, treading water.

  He undid his leathern hose, and then tugged his sark over his head. Placing them on the rock next to her kirtle, he then waded into the water. “True words, I grant. But then, it shan’t stop your bare bottom from stinging after I put my hand to it.”

  She let go with another fist full of mud, hitting him square on his warrior-honed chest. She could not stop the laughter from bubbling up. It felt good after so much tension of the last few days.

  “Wench. Enjoying yourself? I am in arm’s reach now.” To prove it, he stretched out his beautiful arm. She held her breath as his hand took her shoulder, the magnificence of his bare chest making her want to touch him back. “The water must be a sacred spring of Annis. It feels soothing. You sound of better spirits than you have of late. Enjoy the respite. We travel at first light. We needs must ride fast and hard, Aithinne. Challon wants to reach Glenrogha as soon as possible. I do not blame him. I fear we are being followed.”

  “Followed? Who? Why?” Her mood suddenly darkened.

  “I am not sure―yet. ’Tis more of a feeling. I get a sense...well, I just know.”

  “The Kenning. ’Tis your mother’s blood. You be gifted with the ways of our clan. Mostly it shows in females in the Ogilvie line. I have it, but canno’ control it. I try, but when I get upset or worried ofttimes it seems blocked at a moment I need it the most. You might speak with Moffet about it.”

  “Moffet?”

  “Aye, he spake of dreams troubling him. You likely passed it on to him. Did it come as you changed from boy to man?”

  He nodded slowly. “As a matter of fact, it did.”

  “No’ many males carry the ability to farsee.”

  His pale eyes seemed almost to glow in the magic light of the gloaming. “Are you saying I am special, Aithinne?”

  Unable to meet the haunting stare, she looked down, and then gave a faint nod.

  “Suddenly, gone shy? Why?”

  She shrugged, having trouble putting into words all the things that bothered her.

  “You owe me.”

  Startled, her head snapped up. “I do no’ ken what you mean, Damian St. Giles.”

  “Edward.”

  Her spine stiffened at the mention of the English king. The playful mood spoiled. “I owe you naught for Edward Longshanks. He be your monarch, not mine.”

  “You may not like it, Aithinne, but he rules Scotland now. And if not for me, you could have found yourself betrothed to Phelan Comyn or Dunny Dinsmore.” His grin was wolfish, taunting.

  “Instead, I find myself betrothed—without my leave. And to a man who thinks I am no’ too bright, who tells me I lie at the drop of a pin, not as pretty as my cousin Tamlyn, my breasts are no’ as big as hers―and have dots on my nose.” She was angry with him, but in truth, it was hurt that drove her fury.

  He laughed. It was the last straw! She had been so brave, putting up with the long journey, being uncomfortable every step of the way, hot, worried sick and tired. Then, dragged through a town where the idiot fool of a king had left rotting bodies, killed in a slaughter over four months gone, just so he could parade half of Scotland before the horrors. She had been scared, leered at, laughed at, had to stare into the faces of women not too different from her, and know her life had changed, but not in the same manner as theirs.

  “I wouldst take a swing at you, Damian St. Giles, but you would use that as a reason to beat me.” Instead, she tossed the chunk of soap at him.

  He caught it, then pulled her to his chest. “Shhhhh, lass. I promise never to beat you. No matter how oft you lie to me. Oversetting yourself cannot be good for the babe.” His heart beat strong and steady, increasing speed the longer he held her. “The babe is mine, is it not?”

  “Why you lackwit―” Aithinne bit his neck.

  He jumped, startled. “Owwww. Why do you bite me?”

  “You told me no’ to hit you again. You said naught about biting,” she pointed out, trying to push away from him. “Of course, the bairn be yours. He―”

  “He?” Damian asked awed. “A son?”

  She nodded, “’Tis what I see with The Kenning. What Oona and Bessa see, also.”

  “Those with Challon blood tend to sire only sons with black hair and green eyes. My father was of the Challon line. Our name was changed to inherit RavenHawke. When you look at Moffet you have an idea of the child I bred upon you.” He lifted her chin. “Aithinne, all the things about you I spoke to Edward―”

  She looked away. “Do no’ remind me, my lord.”

  “I was forced to let him think I did not see the value in you. Edward is crafty, and any weakness before his eyes is a tool in his hands. Tamlyn would be the means by which Edward could compel many things from Challon. The same as he could seek to use you to see my will complies with his commands. He must never understand your value to me.”

  “He would be sorely mistaken in such beliefs.”

  He shook his head. “Blessed with The Kenning and yet she is blind. Sometimes, Aithinne, your thoughts are very muddled.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he spun her around. “Enough blethering. Close your eyes and let me tend you, my lady.”

  Lifting her hair over one shoulder, he soaped her back, scrubbing hard, as though he understood her need to be rid of the foul miasma of Berwick. Her head lolled, loving his strong warrior’s hands stroking her tense muscles. “Duck to rinse off.”

  “I was enjoying it,” she almost whined.

  “Do as I say, wench.”

  “These Dragons of Challon love to bark orders,” Aithinne fussed, but did as he wanted.

  And oh was she glad she did! He ran those clever hands over her shoulders, upper chest, trailing the thick foam from the soap up her neck. He allowed it to slither downward, the lather creeping across the tops of her breasts. She dipped down to stop it from moving over her nipples. A chuckle rumbled in him, aware of what he was doing to her.

  She leaned her head back against his chest, feeling the muscles flex at the contact. “Amadán.”

  “Oh, aye, I am a fool for you, Aithinne.” His hands followed the path of the soapy foam over her breasts and then down upon her belly. “Our babe grows here. Do you know how humbling that is? Your breasts are fuller. And here, I just assumed you were getting fat.”

  He laughed as she spun around and started to shove at him. He caught her and pulled her to him, floating and treading water, so she was almost lying upon him. “I enjoy teasing you. ’Tis so easy to g
et a rise from you.”

  “Oh, my lord?” Her hand pressed along his chest, moving between their bodies until she curled her fingers around his rigid shaft. “I seem to have a rise from you, Lord RavenHawke. Doing your duty for king and country, wielding your mighty sword for Edward yet again?”

  His white teeth flashed in the night. “Oh, that rankled with you, did it not? What wouldst give you salve to ease your prideful wounds? For me to say I lied to Edward, that I take you for my pleasure, not for duty. Do you really need those words, Aithinne? For one blessed with The Kenning, you cannot see the truth in me?”

  “I told you, my emotions muddle the gift. I have never been able to control it. Many times I do no’ even understand it until too late. Auld Bessa spake that I wouldst one day be as powerful as Evelynour. I canno’ see that happening. There be no place inside me where I can turn my mind to hear the whispers of the Auld Ones,” she confessed sadly.

  She wanted to tell him how she looked into his heart when her brothers brought him to Lyonglen. How The Kenning almost sang as her hand rested over the spot where it beat. Since then, she tried very hard not to walk in his thoughts, too fearful to see how deeply he loved her cousin. From that point on, she had trouble reading his emotions because she blocked The Kenning as much as possible, unable to bear the pain of seeing Tamlyn in his mind.

  Only, she was unsure if he was ready to hear that truth yet. She knew he still hurt from the betrayal by Moffet’s mother. Mayhap in time, she would be able to speak of it. Of course, the day would come soon, as the arrival of the babe would tell him the date they had made him.

  Instead, she distracted him through pleasuring his body, moved her hand down the swollen length of his erection, then back. Hearing his hiss as she repeated the action.

  “Wrap your legs around me, lass,” he gasped between pants. “Let your body speak truths to me.”